The Rain Is Cruel Yet Gentle
by Sydella
Summary: Squalo reflects on his life so far. First-person POV. Mild DS, XS and S80.


I am a true child of the Mafia.

Born in Sicily and nurtured by the island's dark womb, I spent the first few years of my life in an orphanage. Some older kids tried to fuck me up, but after I dealt with them, they never bothered me again. After all, the dead can't hurt others. That's right, I killed them. Didn't I say that I am a true child of the Mafia?

The police searched for me, but I might as well have been a shadow or a phantom for all the attention they paid to me. A good Mafioso is relentless and elusive, and even at that age, I already knew the streets and alleyways of Sicily like the back of my hand. Amongst the crowds of tourists and locals alike, in the everlasting presence of Mount Etna, I went from one _famiglia _to another, learning the ropes of assassination. Not surprisingly, some of them were sceptical about hiring a child at first, but over time, as I got older and my reputation grew, the offers came flooding in, more and more and more. Before I knew it, my name began to be widely spoken of with admiration and respect. I accepted all the praise as my due, of course. Someone of my calibre should be accorded the utmost respect.

At the age of twelve, I was sucked into the echoing halls and gloomy classrooms of an academy made exclusively by and for members of the Mafia. Unlike most of my classmates, who were the progeny of dons and right-hand men, I entered the academy with a scholarship and was expected to work twice as hard as my coddled peers. I passed everything with flying colours. What else were you expecting?

As for how I found the path of the sword, let's just say that a man whom I shall not name bestowed upon me a sword that would make a gladiator's heart swell with pride, and said to me: "Do with it what you will, Superbi Squalo." The blade was cool to the touch and its metal glinted. I caressed the hilt as I would a lover and have never looked back since. In crowded bazaars, ghost towns, barren countryside and cities with shimmering skylines, my sword served me well and tethered me to my life. Small wonder that there came a day when I literally made it a part of my body, of myself.

People slipped in and out of my life. One of the few who stayed was a foolish boy named Dino. He was as unlike me as anyone can be, but after I saved his ass more times than I care to remember and he returned the favour years later, we fulfilled each other's deepest desires and, in the afterglow, reminisced about the past.

"Not so foolish anymore, are you." I spoke those words to him as a statement, not a question.

"No. Same goes for you, I suppose." We laughed and I know I will never forget the way he looked at me right then, because it was so fucking stupid and beautiful at the same time.

Another one who stayed is, of course, my damn boss. His rage, so compelling and terrifying that it can drive grown men to tears, rivals the coldness in my heart. To this day, we are enemies and friends and everything else in between. When our arguments briefly cease and there's a lull between us that is almost eerie, I pour wine for him as he silently contemplates matters he refuses to share with me until, with a mixture of cajoling and threatening on my part, he gives in.

At this point in my story, it would be remiss of me to omit that naïve brat Yamamoto Takeshi. He defeated me once and I secretly hope that he will do so again someday. Until that day, I carefully shape him into the fine warrior I know he will eventually become and pretend not to notice when he starts to look at me in a way that tells me our relationship might, could possibly, very likely will change. But not yet, not yet. I smile when he isn't looking and the clashing of our blades is music to my ears as I wait for the future and all that it will bring.

I have told you about my life. Now, as I sit and watch my damn boss drift off to sleep, my teammates withdraw into their rooms for the night and my phone screen lights up with messages from Dino and the naïve brat. I open a window until it is slightly ajar, just about enough for me to feel the cool night air on my skin.

I regret nothing. I would live my life all over again, if I had to. You know I would.


End file.
